


Communion

by Kikimay



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Catholicism, Chronic Illness, Daddy Issues, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Heist Brothers Backstory, Mommy Issues, References to Illness, Stealing, Tiny Sergio & Andrés
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:55:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24950422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kikimay/pseuds/Kikimay
Summary: “You stole my watch,” came the accusation.Sergio Marquina, seven years old and thin as a toothpick, opened his eyes and saw his half-brother Andrés De Fonollosa standing by the door.Or: a personal attempt to make sense of the brothers' backstory.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Professor | Sergio Marquina
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Communion

**Author's Note:**

> Not betaed. My English is terrible but I really wanted to write this one, so bear with me.

It was a midday at the end of August and the sun was blazing in the sky, making the _barrio_ noiseless, the sidewalk stinging on the bare feet; yet the master bedroom on the tiny Andalusian apartment was flooded in darkness, heavy breaths coming from the child lying in bed.  
  
 _“You stole my watch,”_ came the accusation.  
  
Sergio Marquina, seven years old and thin as a toothpick, opened his eyes and saw his half-brother Andrés De Fonollosa standing by the door, wrapped in a halo of brightness like a judging Archangel. He sighed.  
  
“That’s not true.”  
  
“It is,” Andrés countered, walking towards him with the lazy waver of a boneless dancer. “I want to wear it tonight, I want to show it to my friends, and you stole it from me. Give it back.”  
  
“I don’t have it! And it doesn’t belong to you anyway, you stole it too!” he raised his voice and, because of that, his chest was shaken by convulsive coughing.  
  
The older boy glanced at him, grinning.  
  
“It does belong to me now, but I guess that you … have a point. Still, I won’t be mollified by your act as the sweet, helpless child. If I’ll find it among your stuff, you will pay.”  
  
Sergio raised his back fiercely, despite the pain radiating from his lungs.  
  
“Bring it on,” he whispered with all the strength he had.  
  
Andrés laughed openly.  
  
“You’re a brave little thing, aren’t you?” he said, something akin to pride coloring his voice. “Why are you in bed?”  
  
“Because I’m sick.”  
  
“You’re always sick. You were getting better though, so why are you in bed now?”  
  
“Because it got worse,” Sergio answered. “Mama wants to wait, but she’ll send me back to hospital if things don't improve.”  
  
“What about father?”   
  
“He doesn’t want to and … they are fighting. Again.”  
  
Andrés hummed. He sat down on the bed, next to his brother.  
  
“Are you going to ask me why they always fight, _niño_?” he inquired, and Sergio sighed, eyes getting watery despite his best efforts to pose as brave.   
  
“Why?” he cried out.  
  
“Because women are a weakness to our father,” Andrés explained casually. “They are difficult and he doesn’t … know how to _handle_ them. That’s what happens with him, no one can help.”  
  
 _That’s what happened with your mother?_ , Sergio wanted to ask. He didn’t, though.  
  
“He thinks mama is crazy for wanting me back at the hospital.”  
  
“Is he right? Are you feeling that unwell?”  
  
The younger boy bowed his head.  
  
“I see,” Andrés murmured. “Then I shall come back later, after midnight.”  
  
“They won’t let you in! Aunt Uriela won’t let you in.”  
  
Andrés laughed again.  
  
“Aunt Uriela is an idiot whose brain got screwed up by supersticions. She’ll only care about reciting her _maldito rosario_ and asking for the Virgin’ blessed protection from nightmares, as if the Holy Mary is concerned with her bullshit when all the violence and injustices are happening everywhere.”  
  
Sergio frowned, not really sure of what to make of his brother’s words.  
  
“She said only la _Santa Virgen_ can save me from the illness,” he explained in a small voice.  
  
“Our father will save you from the illness! And she’ll be proven wrong, again and again!” Andrés retorted, white teeth shining in between his lips.   
  
“I hope you’re right.”  
  
“I am!”  
  
“Okay,” Sergio sighed, and gingerly stretched out a hand to grab his brother’s. Andrés let him; it was sticky and cold against dry and warm, different yet similar fingers tight in a knot. “But … just in case things go bad, will you tell papa about the place? The one I want to be buried in? You know … next to _abuelo_ Beppe.”  
  
Andrés raised his chin.  
  
“Nothing will go bad,” he objected.  
  
“Just in case,” Sergio pressed. “You’re the only one I can trust, the only one strong enough to fight them … to ask this for me.”  
  
He said the words; dark eyes shining in darkness, a black fire that Andrés didn’t recognise in anyone else. Only _pequeño_ Sergio, only _his brother_.  
  
“Nothing bad will happen,” he repeated slowly, with decision. “And you know why I'm sure of it?”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because you and I are brothers,” he said, turning Sergio’s wrist until their hands were standing between them, in front of their faces, joined. “If I’m strong then you are strong too, because the same blood flows in my veins and in yours.”  
  
Two timid tears escaped Sergio’s eyes and his cheeks got flushed, his chest full with the brand new revelation; _communion_.  
  
“Andrés …”  
  
“See?” the older boy grinned. “That’s the proof! You don’t have to worry about a thing.”  
  
 _“… I love you.”_  
  
Andrés stilled; gaze lost, eyebrows arched and lips slightly open.   
  
“I love you, Andrés,” Sergio repeated, full of childish faith. “You’re not bad as they say.”  
  
Andrés remembered the priest’s contemptuous glare, his hands beaten at _catecismo_ – because he stole and asked malicious questions, _malo, malo niño …_  
  
He remembered aunt Uriela’s disdained pout and his father’s shaking head.  
  
 _His mother –_  
  
“I’m not … they are right.”  
  
“They aren’t,” Sergio insisted. “Because if I’m good then you’re good too. We share the same blood, have you already forgot what you just said?” he asked with an hint of mischief and the deep-roated fear of discovering that his brother had lied to him.  
  
Andrés’ lips curved in a smile, his eyes were illuminated by joy.  
  
“That’s exactly how it works, you’re right.”  
  
Sergio grinned, coughed again and dragged his brother into a clumsy hug that smelled like sweaty hair and cheap cologne. When resting his back on the pillow, he bumped into something hidden inside.  
  
“It’s true,” he admitted, showing the watch buried inside. It was small and brownish, covered in cotton padding. “I stole from you. I wanted to bring something of yours with me … in case they send me back. I’m sorry.”  
  
He handed the watch to his brother, head bowed in shame and eyes full of unleashed tears.  
  
Andrés raised his chin.  
  
“Keep it.”  
  
“Andrés …”  
  
“It’s too ordinary for me anyway. I’m going to steal Don Felipe’s golden one.”  
  
“But …”  
  
“That should teach him a lesson about valuables!”   
  
Sergio frowned, then tried to smile.  
  
“Don’t get caught.”  
  
“Never,” Andrés grinned.   
  
His beautiful, clever, strong brother. His friends were already outside calling for him, whistling and screaming. 

“I have to go!” Andrés said, and twirled on his feet with the prowess of a bird eager to fly. Sergio’s lips curved in a beaming smile. “See you after midnight, _hermanito_.”  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I didn't really buy Alvaro (And Pedro's) headcanon about the brothers meeting after Jesus Marquina's death. I couldn't make sense of it and, somehow, it didn't seem suitable for such strong brotherly bond. So I decided that the brothers _did_ , in fact, grow up together. Andrés was the son of another woman, so he came and went, but he was there during the entirety of Sergio's childhood and that would explain the strength and importance of their relationship. Or that's what I imagined, anyway.
> 
> I inserted few Spanish words into the text, probably unnecessary. 
> 
> In case you want to know: barrio = neighborhood, district; rosario = rosary beads; Santa Virgen = Holy Virgin (Mary); abuelo = grandfather; pequeño = little; niño = child; hermanito = well, little brother!
> 
> I gave the brothers' grandpa an Italian nickname, so maybe he was Italian or maybe he was a Spanish guy who fought into the Resistance and got a brand new nickname for himself, who knows? He was the one who taught the boys "Bella Ciao" though, *grins*.


End file.
